


Mark the Occasion

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Between the Notes (Deep Space Nine Drabbles) [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Implications, Plotting, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something unaccounted for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark the Occasion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com).

 

 

 

* * *

_Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies. **  
**_\- “Going Under,” Evanescence

* * *

_  
_

Garak keeps a bottle of  _S’Equilvae_  beneath the counter in his shop. The vintage is over 100 years old, procured from one of the most reputable vineyards on Cardassia III. One shot would be strong enough to knock a Klingon off his feet.

He’d hoped to save the opening of the bottle for a momentous occasion. Perhaps, a commendation from the Central Command. His overtaking the Obsidian Order. His return to Cardassia.

Alas, each of those scenarios has slipped further and further from the realm of possibility.

Yet here he is, breaking the seal, pouring a measured amount into a glass and making a toast to the open air. 

All on account of the young human he’d met in the replimat. Admittedly, there was far more purpose behind his introduction than merely wanting to “make a new friend.” But what was work without a little pleasure on the side?

And the young man—Doctor Julian Bashir—had looked at him with such a mixture of surprise and awe. And...Garak closed his eyes, remembered.  _Yes_ , there was a little fear there too. It looked good on him. Made his eyes shine, sharpened the—all too faint for human detection—spiced, musky scent of him. That scent that had made Garak long to bite the sweet, sensitive place where neck and shoulder joined, though he’d settled—for propriety’s sake—on merely placing his hands on the young man’s shoulders.

Garak tosses back the glass, gives a little shudder. Remains standing.


End file.
